CHAPTER 5 : THE FORGOTTEN YEARS

Evelyn stared at the laptop’s blue glow, fingers shaky and breath thin. She could barely make out the words on the open article anymore. Real, specific words she’d spoken only to Damian were there for the entire world to read. That was the thing—only Damian should know this stuff. It was a secret. A memory. A late-night whisper. Now it was splashed across every gossip site she could find. Her chest felt tight—painful, almost like she couldn’t pull in enough air. She kept telling herself it wasn’t true, but there it was: someone close to Damian was leaking stories. Or maybe—no. She almost gagged at the thought—maybe it was Damian himself. “No...” Her voice sounded paper-thin. She slammed the laptop shut and bolted upright. The apartment suddenly felt like it was closing around her. The silence pressed in on her, squeezing, heavy. Everywhere she looked—there he was. The couch where movies became their weeknights. The table where they’d sat, tired and joking over takeout. The kitchen—she could almost feel his arms around her. Memories were everywhere. And every one of them stung tonight. She wandered to the big window, staring down at the city behind the rain. Everything out there looked blurry and far away, like it all belonged to someone else—her future included. She stood there, still as the glass, forcing herself to breathe in and out and not lose it. Don’t cry, don’t remember. But memories didn’t care if she wanted them or not. Especially when heartbreak called them back in waves. They always did. Seven years earlier, things were stark and raw. Damian Black had nothing but his dream and Evelyn. No money. No fancy office. No investors. Just hope. She could still see the exhaustion on his face that night Black Enterprises almost went under. He got home late, slumped on the sofa, his tie askew. He didn’t have to say a word—she knew. But she asked, anyway: “What happened?” He just stared at the floor for what felt like forever. And then: “The investors pulled out.” That hollow, beaten sound—she’d never forget it. Evelyn’s heart sank. “What do you mean?” “The deal is gone.” He barely looked at her. “Everything's gone.” Silence hovered. Finally, Damian laughed, but there was nothing happy about it. “I failed.” She squeezed his hand. “No.” He shook his head, frustration clouding his eyes. “You don’t get it. It’s finished.” His voice cracked. “I can’t pay anyone next week.” The pain in his face almost undid her. This wasn’t about a business—this was his life, his identity. And it was slipping through his fingers. That whole night, he tossed in bed, staring at the ceiling. Evelyn didn’t sleep either. She spent the hours scrolling through options: loans, investors, anything. By sunrise, she’d made a choice she never told him about. She sold her dad’s car, the only real thing she owned anymore. That money kept Black Enterprises going one more month. Damian believed a last-minute investor had come through. He never found out it was her. She never told him—his pride mattered. His dream mattered. Maybe more than her own did. A stray tear traced down her cheek. She wiped it fast, annoyed it was there at all. That night—the fear, the exhaustion—still felt so close. And, strangely, very far away, like it belonged to different people. People Damian had moved on from. That realization stung hardest of all. She turned away, made herself open the laptop again—not because she wanted to, but because she couldn’t stand not knowing. She typed his name into the search bar. Articles exploded onto the screen. News. Business press. Social media. Most poked at the divorce. Some gushed about Black Enterprises. Others—too many—zoomed in on Isabella Sinclair. Evelyn clicked into one. Her heart stuttered. “Business consultant Isabella Sinclair recently joined Black Enterprises as a strategic advisor.” Evelyn’s breath caught. Again. And again, she read it, just to be sure she wasn’t making it up. Six months. Isabella had worked there for six months, and Damian had never said a word? Not even in passing? None of it made sense. Damian used to tell her everything. Did he stop? Why would he keep Isabella a secret? She went down the rabbit hole. More articles, more photos. She couldn’t look away. Conferences, charity events, corporate parties—Isabella always by his side. Smiling. Standing a little too close. Comfortable, like she belonged there. Every new article made her chest ache. In an interview, Isabella said, “Some connections never truly disappear.” Evelyn remembered something similar from the gala—Isabella’s voice, that smug little smile. At the time, Evelyn thought she was reaching. Now she wasn’t so sure. The possibility that this had started months ago, before the divorce, gnawed at her. On the other side of the city, Damian stood alone in his study. The place still felt wrong without Evelyn. After seven years, her absence hung in the air—on the couch, in the kitchen, everywhere. Now, it was just him and too much space. A knock at the door snapped him out of it. His assistant poked in—tomorrow’s interview, confirmed. Damian grunted something close to approval. The assistant hovered, uneasy. “Media’s gotten aggressive,” he said. “I know.” “They’re targeting Mrs. Black—maybe we should—” Damian cut him off. “No.” The assistant hesitated, surprised. “But—” “I said no.” That was the end of it. The door closed. Damian stared at the window, fighting the urge to reach for Evelyn, to explain—hell, just to hear her laugh. He’d tried to convince himself the divorce was necessary, but none of it felt right. Evelyn barely noticed the hours pass. She kept searching, piecing things together, each picture more damning than the last. Corporate events, dinners, awards—Isabella was there. Always Damian’s shadow. Then she found a newsletter from months back. “CEO Damian Black and strategic advisor Isabella Sinclair have worked closely together on several major projects this year.” Not recently. Not for weeks. For most of the year. Evelyn’s hands started shaking. She checked timeline after timeline. Isabella was always there, right next to Damian, long before the anniversary gala, long before the divorce. Months. While Evelyn was still married. Sharing a home. Sharing a bed. The betrayal crashed in, and she couldn’t breathe for a second. Her phone buzzed—a new headline. She almost didn’t click, but habit took over. “INSIDER CLAIMS DAMIAN AND ISABELLA RECONNECTED LONG BEFORE DIVORCE.” She read fast. Too fast. Each detail hurt worse than the last. Months. Before everything ended officially. Evelyn realized: the divorce wasn’t the beginning. It was the end, the last step in a plan that started long before she even suspected.